


disconnect

by fluffysfics



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Bad Flirting, F/M, M/M, a bad time for everyone involved, kissing but also crying, the Master’s time on Earth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:01:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29114937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffysfics/pseuds/fluffysfics
Summary: The Master fills his evenings on Earth with performing, desperately in need of a little attention. It’s all working out fine, until one night he spots a familiar face in the crowd...
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan), The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 40





	disconnect

**Author's Note:**

> the book ‘I Am The Master’ gives us the amazing fact that 1. he lived in Russia for years, and 2. he taught himself the guitar there because he was bored, so naturally I was like ‘let’s take that and make it angsty’!

There were a lot of things the Master missed, whilst he was stuck on Earth. 

His suits, for one thing. Those were awfully expensive when one had to use actual money to buy them, and humans gave him odd looks whenever he walked down the street wearing them. Ridiculous creatures had absolutely _no_ sense of style. 

He also missed the quick, easy thrill of time travel, the delicate physical balance of flying a TARDIS, the way he could flit through centuries in a matter of seconds with _far_ more grace than the Doctor. 

Speaking of, he missed her, too. He hated her guts, of _course_. But she was his only intellectual equal, even if they were hardly any _other_ sort of equal anymore. The Master was choosing not to think too hard about that when possible, and had been for several decades now. 

There were a lot of things that the Master missed about his freedom. But- for now, at least- there were a few things that weren’t quite so bad about his life on Earth. 

At the moment, for instance, he was sat on stage at a small music venue’s variety night, a worn acoustic guitar in his hands, and he was drinking in the rapt attention of a crowd as he sang. It was incredibly easy, he had found, for someone like him to make money this way. Slip the tiniest layer of hypnotic compulsion into his words as they flowed from his lips, and even the most bored and distracted audience member would be fawning over him in seconds. 

He was pretty sure that the big, soulful brown eyes helped, too. 

It was always hard to concentrate on the crowd when he was singing. Guitar didn’t come quite as naturally to him as piano had come to Missy; he’d spent years learning, filling his free time with practice during those years he’d been residing in Russia. By now, his hands knew what hey were doing, but he had to focus on his voice to get it up loud enough, convince it to match tempo with his gentle strumming. 

So he would sit there, legs dangling over the edge of the stage, and concentrate, and drink in the explosion of applause when his songs were over. That was how it always went. 

Except tonight, that didn’t quite happen. 

The Master played the last few notes of his song, looked out over the crowd with his usual winning smile, and promptly _froze_. The audience burst into applause like they always did, but it sounded distant, muffled- his attention was focused elsewhere. On one particular person. 

One set of brown eyes a lot like his own, under serious brows and spiked hair, the owner of which was clapping rather more sedately than everyone else. 

The Master got to his feet as if in a dream, taking his bows and heading off stage to stow his guitar. He felt... _odd_ , like his head hadn’t quite processed what he’d just seen. Like his legs were just following routine, drifting by several other performers who tried to say hello to him. None of it was real, none of it mattered; the one thing on his mind were those eyes. 

The last time he’d seen those eyes, he’d been tearfully pleading for the Doctor to get out of his way, let him fix the awful mistake he’d made by bringing the Time Lords to Earth. Then again, the Doctor’s eyes never really changed. Rich brown, stormy blue, or sparkling hazel- they were all the same person, all the same eyes, deep and sad and endless enough that any foolish person might get lost in them. 

The Master was pretty sure he’d lost himself in those eyes several millennia ago. 

Catching sight of himself in the dressing room mirror, he stopped. Aimless wandering was going to get him nowhere, even though... _fuck_ , he didn’t know what he wanted to do now. The smart move would be to go home. Go home, drink, and forget about this. Maybe burn this whole venue down when he had a spare half hour. 

Of course, he didn’t do that. 

The Master smoothed down his shirt, fixed his hair, and slipped out into the public area of the venue. The Doctor had been sat at a table near the back of the room- it was easy enough to spot which one. His presence was magnetic, even when he wasn’t trying to be. 

“Hello,” he said softly, voice quiet enough that no one but the Doctor would be able to hear him over the sound of the next performer. “Saw you watching me.” 

Looking unsurprised to be approached, the Doctor rested both elbows on the table, propping his chin on his hands. “Oh, I think the whole _room_ was watching you. Brilliant show. _Molto bene_.” 

The Master wondered if this Doctor frequently lapsed into other languages, or if that had something to do with the faint smell of ginger lingering on his breath. 

“Thank you,” he said, leaning a little closer. He couldn’t help himself. It had been so long since he’d seen another Time Lord in the flesh- nearly fifty years, now, and he wanted to bask in the feeling of having another telepathic presence nearby. 

“You...remind me of someone,” the Doctor said slowly. “Old friend. Well- I say old friend. More like...ooh, 1994, have you got the word _frenemy_ yet?” 

“...Yes.” Trying to say more than one word in response to that felt _dangerous._

“Old frenemy, then.” The Doctor nodded, a deep sadness drifting across his face. “I think he’s going to kill me one day soon.” 

So _that’s_ when this Doctor was in his timeline. Well. That explained the ‘getting drunk and sitting in on cheesy variety shows’ thing. 

“Oh,” the Master said, as if this was a perfectly normal conversation. 

“Yeah,” the Doctor said, sighing. For a moment, a dark cloud seemed to pass over his expression- and then it was gone, replaced with a smile that had too many teeth to be completely genuine. “Did you write that song? What’s it about?” 

“Ah...yeah. Someone who left me, who still...haunts me.” More so tonight than most nights, the Master thought, eyeing the Doctor. 

“Ooh. Sad song about a girl. There’s a lot of those,” he said, nodding sagely. 

“I don’t think she’d appreciate being called a girl.” 

“Sorry. Woman.” 

“Probably wouldn’t like that either.” The Master had learned enough about the Doctor during their time spent texting to know that she wasn’t a big fan of gender. 

“Oh.” The Doctor didn’t seem in much of a state to question it. He picked up a cocktail glass from the table by his side, tipping his head back to catch the last few drops. “How long were you two...a thing?” He waved his finger vaguely between the Master and an imaginary second person. 

Ha. That right there was a question with _many_ answers. 

Counting from the moment he’d revealed himself on the plane, they’d been _a thing_ for less than a day. Counting his relationship with her whilst he’d been O, a few years. Counting the entire history of their life together...several millennia. The Master gazed into the Doctor’s eyes, bright and curious and just a little hazy as they were, and shrugged. 

“A while.” 

“Ahh.” The Doctor sat back in his chair, sprawling into it. He kicked his legs up, resting them on the bar beneath the table, and the Master shot his bright red Converse a distasteful look. This one had come _so_ close to a normal outfit, and then he’d just had to go and ruin it with the shoes. “I had someone like that. We were...close. For a while. And then she left me. Well- she didn’t mean to. _Well_ \- I got her stranded in another universe. You know how it is.” 

“Uh-huh,” the Master said, drumming his fingers slightly too hard on top of the table. If he never had to think about Rose Tyler again, it would be too soon. 

“D’you sing here often?” Honestly, if there was one comfort to the Doctor being all tipsy, it was that he seemed totally oblivious to any of the Master’s irritation or strangeness. 

“Five nights a week, every week for the past few months. You haven’t come here before, clearly.” 

“Nope,” the Doctor said, popping the P. “First time. I’m liking this place a lot, though, ‘specially if you’re singing here almost every night...” 

Was that flirting? It wasn’t very good flirting, if it was, but the Doctor was always completely awful in the romance department. Particularly when drunk. The Master just smiled, weighing up his options. Oh, it had been a _very_ long time since he’d been kissed...

He shifted forwards in his chair, leaning across the table. “There’s a lot of the night left, you know. I could be somewhere else, too, if you wanted...” 

The Doctor blinked at him. Confusion settled over his face, then thoughtfulness, and then a dawning, wide-eyed realisation. This one was such a ridiculous, _clueless_ pretty boy. Looking into the eyes of _his_ Doctor, the Master could never forget her age, the size of the weight on her soul. This one, however, looked like barely more than a angsty teenager half the time. 

“Oh,” he said. “Oh. _Oh_...um. Well- I suppose I... _we_ , could...maybe go do...something.” He lifted a hand to scratch the back of his head, looking supremely flustered. The Master took a moment to just enjoy that picture, because it was _gorgeous_. 

Then he stood up, snatching the Doctor’s tie and pulling him up out of his chair with absolutely zero regard for public decency, balance, or anything other than _getting out of here_. 

He dragged the Doctor outside in a matter of seconds, only to stop dead in his tracks. The TARDIS was sitting on the opposite side of the road, well-lit and perfectly innocent looking. The Master’s fingers twitched- it would be oh-so-easy to shove the Doctor to the ground and take his ship, fly himself straight to 2020 and skip the last two and a half decades of this hell. He stared, seriously weighing up the pros and cons of breaking the timeline in this particular way. 

He was distracted from his reverie by a sudden warm body pressing against his side, an arm slipping around his waist. He was...still holding the Doctor’s tie. The Doctor was now gazing at him like he’d never wanted anything more than to kiss him. 

The Master’s resolve wavered. He scowled, yanking on the Doctor’s tie and dragging him into a nearby side street. He was _weak_ , he knew that, but it had been so long since anyone had looked at him like that. Like they wanted him, like he was _worth_ something. 

He shoved the Doctor up against the nearest wall. It was a hard shove, and the wall was damp from an earlier rain shower, but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now except leaning in to kiss him as deeply and as roughly as he could. The Master pressed close, close enough to feel the Doctor’s two hearts beating rapidly against his own, not giving a damn if his heartbeat could be heard in return. 

Fuck. The Doctor’s lips were soft, warm, a little clumsy with his tipsiness- there was still a slight taste of ginger in his mouth, sweet and spicy. But he kissed like he _cared_ , like this stranger whose name he didn’t even know really meant something to him. The Master’s hearts ached with longing, with a desperate desire for more than this. 

For a few crazy seconds, he was tempted to say who he was. Admit that he was the Master, just to see the Doctor fall to his knees and beg him to stay. Just to have someone care about _him_ , not a persona he’d made up. Not O, not some nameless singer- _him_. 

But that would be foolish. It would ruin far more than it would save, and he couldn’t have his grand plans screwed up by the Doctor suddenly recognising him from somewhere. 

The Master tangled one hand in the Doctor’s hair, giving it a good hard tug. He was rewarded with a whine against his mouth, and oh, wasn’t that just _thrilling_. He tugged again, and bit the Doctor’s lip, determined to bruise. That earned him another whine- surprised, but not necessarily displeased. It was a royal shame he’d never gotten to have much fun with this one, sweet little masochist that he seemed to be. The Master wanted to make him _hurt_. He deserved it, surely. 

But...but did he? This one didn’t know who he was. This one hadn’t left him to die on a Mondasian colony ship. This one hadn’t stranded him in Paris with the fucking _Nazis_ of all people. 

There was so much between them. This Doctor hadn’t lived through the Vault, hadn’t even met O yet. The Master knew so much more about him than he should, and the weight of the knowledge felt like it was crushing him, driving him into the ground. 

Something hot and wet slid down his cheek, and it took a moment for the Master to realise that a tear had squeezed out of one of his closed eyes. It was swiftly followed by another, this one falling onto the corner of his mouth. A harsh, salty taste spread through the kiss- he pulled away violently, stumbling back a couple of steps. 

“Damn it. Fucking damn it, Doctor,” he swore, wiping at his eyes, his mouth, suddenly desperate to scrub away what they’d been doing. He could still practically feel the Doctor’s hands where they’d been resting around his waist, and his hearts pounding in his ears only reminded him of the Doctor’s pressed against his own. 

For his part, the Doctor spent several seconds staring blankly at him. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, vaguely attempting to straighten his tie. Then he frowned. “Did I...did I tell you my name...?” 

He definitely hadn’t. The Master rubbed his hands over his face, trying to calm himself down. _He_ half-wanted to fall to his knees now, wanted to beg the Doctor to take him in and make everything _easier_. This one would do it. There was a dark side to him- if the Master begged hard enough, he could convince the Doctor to give him anything he wanted, just for the sake of reviving their old friendship. 

“We’ve met,” he said, his voice ragged. He was stupid, so _stupid_ \- how had he ever thought that this would end some other way besides this? 

“You seem...upset,” the Doctor said slowly. “Did I hurt you? I don’t...I don’t remember you.” 

“Of course you don’t.” The Master shook his head, breathing hard. “You shouldn’t. You’ve got no reason to. I’m just- unimportant. Someone who doesn’t matter. Not- not compared to you, not at all. _Never_.” There was a wretched bitterness in his voice that he couldn’t quite control. 

The Doctor’s expression turned indignant, his eyes going all soft the way they always did before he made one of his speeches. This one was probably going to be an ‘all humans are important’ one, and- _oh_ , he _badly_ didn’t want to have to sit through that. 

The Master shook his head before the Doctor could so much as open his mouth, and fled. He wasn’t built for running, but run he did, out of the alleyway and through the streets until he was somewhere a little more private. His lungs were burning, his hearts thudding even louder in his ears, and still the way it hurt was nothing compared to the pain of seeing the Doctor. Of having had him so close, and yet knowing that there were so many light years of difference between them. He knew too much. 

He missed _his_ Doctor. Closing his eyes, he imagined himself on his knees before her, pictured her hand on his cheek, pictured her ending both of their lives in one fell swoop. He deserved it, deserved to die by her hand. He’d thought that maybe she wouldn’t be up for it, but _this_ had all proved to him that she was. Stranding him here, leaving him to suffer through the decades and deal with other versions of her, _clueless_ versions of her, was cruel enough that it could practically be one of his own plans. He loved her deeply, bitterly, _terribly_. 

The Master let himself drop to his knees on the filthy ground, burying his face in hands. A raw, _miserable_ scream tore itself from his throat, left him kneeling there with his hearts aching and his hands shaking. 

Once again, he contemplated burning that music venue down to the ground. But he thought about the humans who came to his shows, the way they applauded- it was fake, it was shallow, but he was starting to think that he _needed_ it. Needed approval from someone, anyone, even members of a far lesser species. 

He dug his nails into his skin, ignoring the dampness on the ground soaking into his trousers. Earth was _lonely_ , above anything else. The Master had always considered himself something of a lone wolf, his occasional dances with the Doctor giving him everything that he needed- but being stuck here, all alone and forced to live life at the correct speed, he was becoming painfully aware of just how wrong he was. 

Twenty six more years, he thought to himself. Twenty six more years, and then he could let this all end once and for all. 

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed this! comments and kudos are very much appreciated <3


End file.
